#money for nothing 1993

[benicioscenes]

BENICIO DEL TORO as DINO PALLADINO MONEY FOR NOTHING 1993 | dir. Ramón Menéndez

[romancelvr]

How Dead Boy Detectives is free from NG

I realize the title is a bit eyebrow raising, but I am here to lay out how Dead Boy Detectives, both the comic and TV have actually very little to do with NG. His name as of late has (rightly) been dragged through the mud, but Dead Boy Detectives in actuality does not deserve to be dragged down with him. 

To start with: the comics. Charles and Edwin made their first appearance in Sandman # 25 in 1991. They weren’t associated with the name “Dead Boy Detectives” until the Children’s Crusade arc starting in 1993. 

Starting in 2001, these characters were written exclusively by Ed Brubaker and Jill Thompson with no contributions or writing by NG. It wasn’t until 2013 they were granted their own comic series. It was ordered by Vertigo and written by Toby Litt and Mark Buckingham. They were the writers that created and introduced Crystal Palace. 

Most important THIS was the comic series the show is based off of. NG didn’t write or work on this comic series at all. When the comic series was originally published both Toby and Mark were interviewed about expanding these characters away from the Sandman comics. 

Their work is the basis of the show we’ve all grown to love. Back before the show debuted in January 2024 Toby was even interviewed about how excited he was to see Crystal on screen as she was a character HE created. 

Regarding the show, Steve Yockey was the one who approached WB/DC about the series and bought the rights to the show himself. 

Backing this up is per copyright holdings for DBD, the show is entirely owned by WB where Steve is employed with an ongoing deal that started in 2022. 

On NG’s tumblr he himself stated multiple times he had nothing to do with the show, that it is entirely Steve Yockey’s. 

In summation, despite the fact that these characters debuted and were in a few issues of Sandman, NG has had nothing to do with them since 1994. In regards to money, which I know is the hot button issue for everyone, if NG makes money it would be a very small amount, if indeed he makes any at all.

For nearly 30 years these characters have had a life of their own, and deserve to stand on their own merit. Starting with the many wonderful writers who gave them their own voices in the comics, to the writers of the show and finally the cast who brought them to life onscreen. 

Please grant them that respect and don’t drag them in with NG they do not deserve it. 

UPDATE 9/7/2024

I wanted to add further evidence my friend was kind enough to send me regarding this matter. Doing a search for NG on this site: https://cocatalog.loc.gov/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?DB=local&PAGE=First the US Copyright database verifies NG OWNS NOTHING of Dead Boy Detectives.

Not the characters, their names, anything even from the comics back in the 90s. If you want to search and check yourself feel free to on the link above. I just wanted everyone to know this as I'm not giving up on saving this show.

[anomaly-hivemind]

We’ll meet again || Double penetration in one hole and public w/ Bill cipher x fem reader

Word Count: 1993

Masterlist

Tag: Double penetration in one hole, vaginal sex, Exhibitionism, public, Overstimulation, dubcon

Note: The reader is slightly black-coded. Nickname is Dimples or honey lips

You got a full time job at this mystery shack in the middle of the forest. You had been working there for maybe a total of three months with little to no issues, until it became the start of the summer. Then came two young kids and all the oddities that seem to have started when they got there. Staying with their Grunkle which was also your boss, you got to know everyone well.

“Hey Y/N do you mind watching over the shack for me for a few hours, I’m taking Mable and Dipper out for a bit” Stan said while already basically out the door so you just nod. It was a long slow hour of nothingness, maybe an old lady or two but nothing interesting to make you pay attention to anything.

“So one save me from this boredom,” You groan and rub your forehead. You could only play with pens and paper clips for so long. You heard a ring and turned to face the door, but there wasn’t anyone around as far as you could tell.

“I’ve only seen you around recently how fun” A voice behind you makes you turn to it with wide eyes and you lean against the register. A guy who didn't really seem all there was standing behind the counter with you. ‘Where did this bum come from, how the fuck did he get behind you in th first place.’ You thought with a panic as you looked at the unnatural yellow glow in his eyes and felt like he was peering into your soul nonconsensually might you add.

“Sir you can’t be behind the counter” You try to keep a kind voice in hope to not upset the potential crackhead that had wandered into the mystery slack.

“BuUt I came to answer your pleas of boredom dimples. definitely not to find something of importance. ” He spoke dramatically before mumbling something under his breath.

“My what now.. Sir please just set back into being in front of the counter.” Instead of doing what you asked, he took a step closer and unfortunately for you that ass of yours was not moving any closer to the register than you already were.

He moved his arms on both sides of you and smiled an uncanny smile that made you shiver. Next thing you know you are moving onto the counter to escape his attempt to trap you. Like hell were you gonna get murdered by some random probably drunk stranger for drug money. You liked it here but not enough to get yourself killed and mutilated for it.

“That tremble of yours is pretty cute Honey lips, filling my head with all kinds of things.” you make a run to the door but before you could open it the yellow eyed guy stood in front of the door blocking the fastest exit out.

The room felt cold and shaped all of sudden and you felt like you were a deer in headlights. You couldn't move anything but move your head which is what tipped you off that this was no normal paralysis.

“What the hell did you do to me!” You yelled at him in a concerned voice. The guy uses your stuck body to lean against your shoulder.

“You have a pleasing meatsuit Dimples.” he whispered in your ear.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?!” your voice got shaky as you tried to keep the confidence you definitely didn’t have right now.

“Name’s Bill! But you can call me your new lord and master for all of eternity!” The guy’s body drops to the ground in front of you and out comes a bright yellow triangle with one eye and a top hat pops up in his place floating around. “Oh so i’m tripping balls right now, inhaling the wrong type of air that's what going on right now.”

“I am very real despite what that simple brain of yours thinks.” he rolls his eye at you as he flies around you in a close circle.

“You are nuts.” you shake your head, who would have thought that your mundane need to cure your boredom would lead to… well whatever this was right now.

“Well it's not my fault your corrupt mind brought my attention, so what was it you wanted Dimples.” you don't answer so he speaks again.

“Entertainment was it, well honey lips consider me willing to entertain…But in exchange you gotta entertain me.”

“How would i do that” you felt dumb even entertaining this Dorito thing.

“How ‘bout I reverse the functions of every hole on your face.” his eyes smiled or so that's what you think his face was doin at least.

“How about no.”

“No fun boo, mhm how about something we both can enjoy” He had his hand in front of his face where his chin would have had if he wasn’t, well if he wasn’t a triangle.

“Like what?”

“You'll just have to take the chance and Trust me.” There was a slight giggled that came from his lip face. his hand lit up in a blue fire and you realized you could move again.

“But why are you doing this?” you tried to ask but he only gives you a cryptic answer.

“Boredom is my worst enemy, so I'm here to save you,” he said loudly.

You were definitely going to regret this lapse in judgment you were about to have. You raised your hand and shook the demon's hand with great hesitation. ‘Was I fucking stupid, i gotta be brain dead to shake the hand of a demon who gave me vague information of his probably dangerous arrangement i agreed to already. Sign my life way I guess.’

He snapped his fingers and your clothes were gone, you let out a shrill as you covered the important bits the best you could.

“No amount of gold on earth can buy originality…but you're come close enough.” Move your arms away.

You felt very exposed, you were naked in your work space in front of this triangle being of unknown origins. You were in the middle of the room and anybody could come inside the place, hell Stan and the kids could come back at any time then next thing you know it you’re a register offender. You could only hope that what this chip shaped man demon thing had in planned for you wouldn’t last that long.

In a flash Bill grows a body and keeps his triangle head that has changed into a pyramid. He was also equally as naked as you are, Plus he looked Hot to add to it. You look him up and down but your eyes get stuck on a thing well two things actually. Two dark cocks that were long and thick at his base, erect and twitching. You were staring at them and you were drooling a bit. It was embarrassing.

“This form pique your interest?” He stroked himself slowly as if he was giving a show for you. You don’t catch yourself nodding to his question and before you know it he is up against you, dick touching you everytime he curves it in a stroke. He moved you closer to the counter, your bare ass touching the desk.

“Let's get started, Honey lips.” he rubbed the tips over your fold and let out a funny happy sounding noise.

“So wet already~ who would have thought you could be so needy and wanting.” he pushed one of his veiny cocks into you, all the way to in until kissed it on your cervix. You let out a loud squeal like moan as you arched your back. There was no way you were going to cum, not from him just sliding into you…right.

“Feel free to cum at any time, I'm super giving Dimples.” he started to move his hips, your pussy regards no shame as it makes wet squelches as he tickles your g-spot. Your hole sucking in him it's making you feel like a slut.

“Fuckin… Ah~” you feel your legs start to shake from his mean pace inside of you. Bill starts to push his other cockhead and you clench around them. You cum around them as soon as he pushes the other one all the way inside as well. Stretching you out like never before, it felt like you were touching stars.

You have no time to recover from his movement because he doesn't stop, letting out a groan and mumbling to himself about how snug your pussy felt around him. Your ears burn as he teases you for cumming so fast and mentioning how he was just getting started with you. He starts to push almost all the way out before ramming back into out then repeating. Your eyes start to water as you reach another climax right after the other.

“You are mighty easy to please Honey lips.” he groaned and pushed you over on the counter, you were now laying back on the cold desk in a daze as he held your legs up at his waist. Your walls flutter around the girth of the two dicks of his inside of you.

“I can’t take it!” you whine as you feel an orgasm number who knows you're not keeping track start to approach you.

“Limits only exist in the mind.” Bill rolled his hips at an odd angle that it was almost like his dicks were moving at different times. He gives a squeeze to your breast and you shiver.

He kept moving his hips in this devious way that was starting to make you spasm and moan. Bill moved his hand down your body and he started to play and tease your clit, the whole action makes you choke out a cry as you feel a pool of wet hit yours and his thighs. ‘Did I just?!’

“YOU DID?” He answers your thoughts with an overly happy tone that was embarrassing. He kept thrusting his hips into you and circling your clit and you impulse your legs shut. You didn't think you could cum anymore but this DEMON has proved that to not be true in the slightless.

“Can you try not to lose consciousness, it won't make me stop.” He spoke through breathy groans. Bill’s words make you clench around you again, you could see the specks of darkness forming in your vision but you try to shake them off.

He slammed his hips into you at a breathtaking pace, his was slower and harder and it literally took your breath out of your lungs with each thrust. You could feel him twitching in you, a dead give away that he was close to coming. His pace brought you back to another painful yet pleasuring orgasm, his hand went back to your clit to run a slow tight pattern on you.

His hips sputter and he comes in heavy thick ropes of cum, filling you up like a pie. Pools of his seed dripped out of you when he pulled out of you a bit too fast for comfort. You let out a quick whine.

“Your a fun time Dimples, really know how to keep up with me.” he changed back to his triangle form. You try to get up but the sudden movements make your ears ring and thighs send you any single they can. You look up at Dorito demon as he watches you struggle a bit.

“We’ll meet again, Honey lips.” his eye curls as his way of a smile, then he poofed out of nowhere.

Now you need to get some clothes before anyone sees you like this…And to wipe the cameras.

[superblysubpar]

potentially very silly thought that’s been on my mind for forever so feel free to ignore! but stevie has glasses right? but he never wears them bc he doesn’t like how they look/doesn’t believe he really needs them (spoiler: he does). imagine dad!steve’s little baby comin back from the doctor and needing specs :( and his kid is all sad bc they think they’ll get bullied and that they look silly, but dad!steve puts on his like “see? glasses are cool, bud!” and they wear them together <3

dad!steve harrington x mom!fem! reader

a How Sweet It Is story

summary: steve's kiddo doesn't want to get glasses | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

1.7kwords

Spring, 1993:

Steve rubbed at his forehead as he stirred the spaghetti sauce on the stove. Grace had fought him for hours, screaming and crying and throwing toys at him. He knew that all she needed was a nap but she refused, insisted that she wasn’t tired and wailed with a set of lungs that gave her Uncle Eddie a run for their money. He’s used to headaches by now though - too many hits to the head over the years and what felt like a constant squint to see things clearer, toddler tantrums were nothing when it came to the things that caused him headaches. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted her to wake up anytime soon. So when the loud crack of the front door handle hitting the wall pulled him from his thoughts he rushed out of the kitchen, hushing loudly. Whisper-shouting to you and your oldest, “Hey, hey, Grace is finally asleep!”

Nora kicked the wall as she tried to take off her shoes and coat at the same time, a flourish and frenzy of tiny grunts and zippers clicking together. Yellow dots on her sneakers lighting up and the yellow of her rain coat a fast moving blur - yellow was the color, or so he’s been told repeatedly by her in the last two weeks. He looked past his yellow blob of movement to see you slowly following her up the steps, rubbing your temple. 

Oh boy.

Nora was six. Opinionated and strong and curious. Sometimes she shocked them with her big ideas and her logic-searching questions, but every once in a while they were reminded she was in fact, a kid. A tiny human with too big of feelings and not always the right words to describe them. Right now, he’d bet money on some very large feelings bubbling up inside of her, and he just didn’t know if he could handle another tantrum. Her brown curls a mess like she’d run her hands through them too many times (a habit you’ve pointed out she picked up from him before she could walk), her face flushed and her jaw clenched, tiny hands trying to get her coat off too quickly and a furrow between her brows when it wouldn’t cooperate. 

Steve bent down to her level, hands reaching out towards her, "Hey cutie, slow down. Let me help-"

"No! I can do it myself!" tiny hands forming fists and a fury behind her eyes that would be alarming if she wasn't so small and cute. This was another new development - dad yellow is the color of the moment and oh by the way I’m a big girl now. It’s a lot for a dad to wrap his head around. 

Steve raised his hands up in surrender, "Okay, sure."

As you closed the door softly, Steve looked up and mouthed, "What happened?"

You gestured to your eyes, forming glasses with your fingers as you mouthed the word at the same time. 

His brow furrowed because why in the world would she be so upset about glasses? Heart breaking that she’s obviously incredibly worked up about something that isn’t really an argument if she needs them. 

As she flung her coat to the ground and went to stomp around it he snaked his arm around her waist, "Oh no you don't,” she huffed and crossed her arms as he squeezed her waist, “Nora, what's wrong?"

"I don't want them!" she cried out, stomping her foot against his thigh as he stood up holding her.

Steve pushed a stray curl from her forehead, faking obliviousness, "Don't want what? You gotta catch dad up here."

Her chin wobbled as she looked anywhere but at his face and his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. How can she hate glasses so much? She’s six! 

Nora clings to his neck as he goes back to the kitchen, the heat turned down and stirring it once more as they sat in silence, her little huffs of frustration mixing with the bubbling sauce. He’d wait patiently until she wanted to tell him. You followed wordlessly behind, pulling down a cup for water and setting it across from him. Steve’s arm supported under her butt and he leaned against the counter to face you. 

Nora spoke finally, quietly and forced out of her pouting lips, "Glasses."

Steve rubbed her back with one hand, cheek resting on top of her head and sighed. She was way too big to hold like this anymore, and he missed it. 

"Baby, why don't you want glasses, huh? Lots of people wear glasses,” you questioned softly from your spot at the otherside of the counter. 

Nora mumbled into his neck, "Daddy doesn’t like them. People make fun of glasses."

Steve made eye contact with you over the top of her head, swallowing harshly and blinking away tears. A small and sad smile rested on your lips. You leaned your chin into your palm and sighed, raising your eyebrows at him. 

His heart dropped into his stomach as he set her down on the counter and cleared his throat, “I love my glasses, what are you talking about?”

Nora shook her head quickly, curls flying everywhere, a deep breath as crocodile tears fell down her cheeks. Voice wobbly and on the cusp of some big sobs ready to break as she spoke rushed and loudly, “No. No you do-n’t. Mommy, you, y-you told Mommy that…that…” she hiccuped but pushed on, “Losers wear glasses. And, and Jacob…hims said…he…people who wear glasses are weird and, and…”

As Nora kept going Steve clenched his fists against the counter. He’d take back any and every thought he’d had about glasses if he could. He could throw up from the guilt swirling in his stomach, that he was somehow a part of the reason his little girl was so worked up about something she needed. Something so tiny and materialistic. He’d fix this. He had to fix this. 

“Woah, woah, who’s this Jacob kid and what does he know, huh?” He kissed the top of her head, pushing curls from her face that clung to her wet cheeks.

“Jacob, daddy,” she sighed his name out, bored and exasperated like Steve should know while she hiccuped again.

Steve nodded, face serious as he snapped his fingers and you smiled from behind her, “Right, that Jacob. Okay, but babe, Jacob doesn’t know what he's talking about. He doesn't know the super special secret."

Nora's hands swiped at her cheeks, "Secret?"

Nodding he chucked the side of his knuckle under her chin and handed her the glass of water, "Super special secret."

Nora's eyes went wide above the rim of the cup and you bit the inside of your cheek as Steve nodded and leaned in, "Only people who wear glasses get to know the super special secret," he glanced at you, “Oh, and mommy’s.” 

"Tell me," Nora whined, fidgeting and tugging at his shirt.

"Well, the secret is, is that people who wear glasses are super duper crazy awesome. They can see better, like superhero vision,” the small white lies building as her smile grew and he spoke with his hands, “And because they can see better they can read faster and get smarter. They can see so good with their glasses that they can sneak into the kitchen in the dark for late night snacks and-"

You made a disgruntled noise from the back of your throat and shook your head, mouthing the word no, but tried to hide your smile. 

Steve grinned wider at you but Nora frowned, not buying it. Too smart for her own good as she countered, "But, daddy, you don't wear your glasses. And you said lose-"

"You're right, I did say that,” he bit the inside of his cheek and ran his hand through his hair before waving them around, “But that's because I didn't want anyone to know how cool the super special secret is. But now," he leaned in and kissed her forehead, "I can wear mine all the time because I'm not alone! We can be crazy awesome together."

"Really?" Nora looked up at him, wide eyed and hopeful and he had to blink back tears again. 

"Really, really," he brushed the last stray tear slipping down her cheek, "Go grab mine for me and we can head to the store and pick out yours together."

He lifted her and set her down and she raced away. Steve fell forward onto the counter, moaning as he pressed his forehead to the cold tile. 

He listened as you stood, holding his breath until he felt your arms wrapping around his waist. A kiss between his shoulder blades before he spun to face you. 

He pressed his nose into your cheek as you whispered, “Good job, dad.”

He huffed, not unsimilar to his daughter and mumbled, "I hate my glasses."

You hummed, running your hands up his back before speaking, "I love your glasses,” you laughed and kissed his jaw, voice laced with fake shock and wonder, “And why would you hate them? Didn't you hear the super special secret, Steve?"

Moved to your neck, he grumbled, "Ugh, I'm gonna punch that Jacob in the face."

A laugh bubbled out of you as you squeezed his waist, a kiss to his temple as you reminded him, "He's six, Steve."

"Right. Well. Maybe his dad then," he kissed your neck and removed himself as tiny feet raced back down the hall.

"Woah! You're right daddy! I can see crazy awesome!"

He stood up fully to see Nora zooming around the corner with his glasses on her face too big and dangerously close to falling completely off and you covered your smile with your hand.

He swiped the glasses from Nora and slid them up his own nose. Picking her up he smiled and asked, "Should we go pick out yours now?"

Nora nodded excitedly and bounced up and down once her feet were back on the floor, energy radiating off of her as he tied her shoes and zipped her coat. 

When they returned home, she nearly broke his arm, she was tugging so hard, "Mommy! Mommy! Look, look, look!"

You came around the corner holding his sleepy toddler and grinned, "Woah! Yellow! Crazy awesome!"

As he turned to close the door Nora beamed and shouted, "Daddy said the yellow was even more super special because yellow would help me see the cookies waay on the top shelf better."

Steve bit his lip as he spun to face you shaking your head, a smile twitching on your lips. He shrugged and stole Grace out of your arms with a kiss to your cheek as he mumbled, “Yellow is the best color, mom.”

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I hope you consider reblogging my work to get it circulated to new readers - thanks for being here 💛

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter eight: where did i go wrong? | read chapter seven

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 3.7k

━ warnings: canon typical violence, blood, etc

━ masterlist

━ a/n: sorry for disappearing! essentially, i started grad school and it is So Much Work. but if you'd like some unnecessary rambles on tim and wally's relationship here and in light of their og meeting in robin (1993), you can also find my thoughts on that here <3

 The next day, you don’t hear much from Steph. 

She does text you a few times, mostly reassurances and that she’s working to pull something together. You don’t quite understand but she was so convincing the day before, you let it go. 

You mostly spend the day—after sleeping in—learning your new phone, excited at having something new and so high-tech to play with. Flash texts you several times during the day. Blurry selfies and equally blurry pictures of Keystone and Central. Even a couple of the New York skyline, as he informs you he decided to drop in and visit a few friends. 

You can’t send him much. The clouds that hang in the sky, waiting to pour down on unsuspecting Gothamites at a moment’s notice. The feral cat that hangs out in the alley by your apartments, who you get close enough to to catch mid-hiss. The person on the subway carrying what you suspect to be a possum in their bag but Flash insists is actually an opossum. Whatever the difference is. 

There is a difference!

idk sounds made up

You’re from the city. Of course you think that.

ok WOW

you’re blaming my dead parents for where they settled????

Yes.

wow

You go into work in relatively high spirits, considering everything. 

Black Bat stops by for some gummy worms and a can of Red Bull and you tease her a bit for it.

“Signal’s influence?”

“Better than coffee.”

“Fair enough.”

Red hasn’t been by, you think, watching her go. Not yesterday and not today, though it’s early. He usually stops by nearly every night, if not for a couple minutes. But nothing specifically decrees that he comes by… You’re just used to it, you suppose, and last night’s absence was noticeable.

There’s still time, though. Maybe you’ll see him later tonight. 

Overhead, the AC turns on. They fixed it, along with that electrical issue Red Robin caused last week. It works a little too well, though. These last few days have had you uncomfortably cold, so today, you come armed with a hoodie—Tim’s hoodie, the only piece of clothing you’ve ever managed to steal from him. A bit baggy on him and even more so on you, it’s a pleasant shade of azure blue. One of your more precious possessions since it’s, like you said, the only thing you really have from him. Also a bit of an indulgence right now but… you’re past the point of caring. 

Maritza pops by a little while later, waving at you. 

“Hey, Mari. Here for a Slurpee?”

“That, and I was wondering if you guys have any pain cream… Abuela’s back is hurting her and we ran out yesterday,” she says, lips pursed, glancing at the aisles. 

“Pain cream,” you repeat thoughtfully, stepping around the counter. “We should. Let’s see.”

She follows you to one of the center aisles.

“How’s summer break been so far?” you ask, running your eyes over displays of toothpaste, disposable toothbrushes, and other basic items. 

“Boring,” she sighs. “It’s too hot to do anything.”

You chuckle, tucking your hands in the pocket of Tim’s hoodie; your fingers are cold. They always seem to be. “Books are excellent ways to preoccupy the time.”

“Think I’ve read every book at the library,” she grumbles, which probably isn’t that much of an exaggeration. Gotham’s public library system is drastically lacking; it was only in May did Wayne Enterprises announce that they were investing more money into it. By now, they probably haven’t reached the library here in the Upper West Side. 

“You should check out GU’s then. Kids get free library cards and our selection is fairly expansive. I’m sure you could get away with checking out some things for your abuela, too. At least until they fix everything in the one here.”

“Huh. Maybe.” She moves ahead of you, scanning the rest of the aisle. “Oh, hey, you guys do have some.”

She reaches for a box. 

The door opens. You turn. 

The wink of the kitchen knife is the first thing you see, then the trembling hand, and then the owner to whom it belongs, too. A scrawny man wearing a grey hoodie, the same hood pulled over his head. 

It’s not great at hiding his face, you think dimly, every muscle inside you locking into place. Mari freezes behind you, breath audibly catching in a gasp as he turns the knife sharply on you.

For a second, the three of you just look at each other. 

You break the silence first. 

“All the money is in the register. Take it.”

A lengthy pause, one that amplifies the dread petrifying your insides. Your new phone, with Flash’s contact info, sits in the pocket of your hoodie, weighing it down; your fingers are laced together, cold, hovering right above it and you recall the rundown you’d been given by Flash last night, the… other not-quite-normal aspects of your new phone. 

“Okay, so, on top of the League encryption stuff, there is something else.”

“Are you tracking me?”

“Not… exactly.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Your location is logged with the League,” he admits. “But it’s secure. You’re registered with me, so only I can look at it. My wife’s phone is like yours. Her information is there, too. A lot of us do it with our families. Not just to keep sensitive information secure, but there’s… a risk that comes with being with us.”

You frown at him. “Does she know?”

He looks horrified. “Of course she does. I don’t go around just tracking her without her knowledge. That’s weird. And messed up. I don’t even actively do it. Not unless she’s been kidnapped or she wants me to. That’s what I’m trying to say. Your location is being tracked but I’m not peeking in on it. No one is, unless a need comes up. An emergency kind of need. And that brings me to my next thing.”

He pauses, looking at you, calculating, but you just nod for him to continue. 

“You have my number,” he says. “So, you can call me. For emergencies or if you just want to talk about your day. But in the case that you can’t call me, if you’re in some kind of danger…” He plucks the phone out of your grasp, turning it over in his hands, pointing to the power button on the side. “Press this three times and it’ll send an SOS signal to me, along with your location. I’ll come. Okay?”

“Are you… sure?”

He seems affronted. “I don’t just do this for anyone. I thought you’d have seen that by now. You’re…” he stops, frowning deeply. “You mean a lot to me, kid. If I can save you, if I have the opportunity to keep you safe, I’ll take it. I wouldn’t ever ask you to leave Gotham because it’s your home and I know the Bats hang around but… this just makes me feel better. You have a direct line to me. Use it.”

“Batman probably won’t like that.”

“Batman can suck it,” he says petulantly. “Especially after what he did to you last week. I take care of my own. No matter where they are. Got it?”

You got it. 

The thought still astounds you even now, that Flash cares that much about you and how ironic it is that you don’t even know who he is under the cowl but maybe you don’t need to. This is still him, isn’t it?

And you would heed his words. Of course you would. You have no interest in dying. You have no hangups about being saved. Flash didn’t think you incompetent, it was just a precaution, a necessity for living in the world you do.

That is true now more than ever.

Especially with how aware you are of Mari behind you, too. 

“Take your hands outta your pockets,” he says.

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

“Just take the money, man.”

You have to be careful but quick. If you could just unlace your fingers and reach for your phone…

Of course, you have no idea how quickly the signal will reach Flash or how fast he’ll even be able to get here…

You guess you’ll just have to trust him. Trust him and his capabilities.

A step forward. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You can hear Mari behind you, her breath quick and uneven. You’re most worried about her, to be honest. If you go down, what’s going to happen to her? You dread to think about it.

“Take your hands out of your fuckin’ pocket,” he hisses; despite the severity of his voice, his hand is trembling. You don’t get why he won’t just grab the money and go. 

He must think you can call the police or something but even then, it’s not as if the GCPD are reliable. As if they can do anything. 

As for you, there is nothing else you can do. You need to call him. 

“Mari, run!” 

Your hand grapples for your phone at the same time. 

You hear the snick of sneakers on the tiled floors, your fingers slip over the sides of the new case currently hugging your phone, and he surges forward and then—

Just a mere spark, one that jolts you as you realize what happened. It’s small at first, then bigger, then massive, a forest fire eating you alive from the inside out, burning white-hot. 

You can’t do anything. 

You stare at the man in front of you, closer now, close enough to dig his knife right into the soft flesh of your belly. His eyes are wide, too. Like he can’t believe he just did that. Neither can you.

But the worst of it comes when he pulls the knife out. 

The sound that escapes you is foreign to your ears. Your knees give out. One hand presses to the source of your pain, the other lands hard on the tiled floor; your wrist smarts, your arm trembling as you hold yourself up. 

You’re barely aware of anything other than the pain. Throbbing heat, warmth rapidly spreading through the front of your shirt and hoodie. Your vision blurs, from tears and from the pain, your heart pounds so hard, you feel it in your teeth, hear it in your ears above the rush of your blood. 

You manage a glance behind you, relieved to see Mari is gone and hopefully back in the safety of the apartment building next door. Ahead of you, the man is scrambling to get the cash register open, cursing like a sailor and eventually yanking it off the counter and smashing it on the ground, ducking out of your view.

God, you need to call Flash. Not 911, they won’t get here in time, no way, you need him. Before the man decides to cut his losses and kill you. You hope he’ll just take the money and run, but you’ve seen his face, surely he knows that puts him in that much more danger of being arrested—

The door opens. You hear your name from a familiar voice and then someone steps into view. 

Tim’s eyes are wide as he looks at you, horrified, but behind him, your attacker shoots up from the ground and you choke out a warning, an urging to run, to get out of here, you don’t know what you’d do if anything happened to him, no, no, you can’t lose him like that. 

He whips around just as the man swings himself over the counter, letting out something of a war cry, cash held in one hand and the knife in the other. It gleams red under the light. He lunges.

“Tim!”

But his fatal injury does not happen. Instead, you watch him duck out of the way, moving faster, more gracefully than you’ve ever seen, like he’s done this before and the man doesn’t expect it, stumbling with his own momentum. Not stopping, either, Tim grabs the man’s wrist, heaving him over his shoulder until he slams into the ground hard. It’s brutal. It’s violent. It’s nothing you’ve ever seen from Tim, your Tim who… who hates needles and always bemoans going to get the yearly flu shot with you and Steph, your Tim who can get impatient, snippy, but not violent. 

You don’t understand. With the haze of pain, that fact feels oddly upsetting. 

The door opens again. He whips around, geared up for another fight, but it’s just Spoiler, it’s—

Golden hair, familiar blue eyes. A face you know by heart. Even with the bottom of her face hidden. 

They’re both at your side in an instant. In good timing, too, because your arm gives out but before you can crash to the ground, Tim catches you, turning you over in his arms and gently laying you back onto the tile.

“You’re okay,” he says quickly, eyes scanning you frantically. “You’re okay.”

All the movement tugs at your belly, flames flaring for a brief moment, making you dizzy with pain, choking out your voice, leaving you to blink the tears out of your eyes and look up at your friends.

You don’t like the look on their faces. Horrified. Full of dread. It hurts you. 

“Fuck,” Stephanie Brown, also known as Spoiler, says, digging through pouches in her utility belt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Oracle, where is the nearest hospital?”

“I know where it is,” Tim says, snapping into action, his hands reaching for the hoodie. “Off Murphy Ave.”

Rrrrrrip.

He tears through the front part of your hoodie—his hoodie—like it’s nothing. Both their faces drop as they see your shirt underneath it but you’re more focused on the first part of what just happened. 

“Did you—have to tear it?” you whine. “This is the only hoodie I have from you…”

“You can have all of my hoodies,” he promises, reaching for the hem of your shirt. 

Another ripping sound. 

Steph reaches underneath you. “Didn’t go through.”

Tim nods. “The sooner we get her to the hospital, the better. I don’t like how much blood she’s losing.”

“I can hear you, you know,” you mutter, more petulant than you want but considering you are bleeding from a stab wound, you think you get to be. 

They both let out strained chuckles. Tim reaches for one of the pouches of Steph’s belt. You wonder how he knows which one to open. You wonder a lot of things. Where he learned to kick ass. Whether he has always known Steph is Spoiler. How he is so calm right now. It tickles at you, like you have all the pieces to the puzzle but the full picture still isn’t coming out. 

And oh, yeah, the burning throb of the stab wound is really sapping your concentration, too. Cold creeps in at the edges, your fingers feeling icy as you clench them. You shiver violently, though it hurts to move like that. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Steph says soothingly, squeezing your hand. “We just really need to get you to a hospital to guarantee that.”

“You should—fuck!” The gauze Tim presses to the wound sends shockwaves of pain through you. Black spots appearing in your vision, breath squeezing in your throat.

He says your name loudly. “Breathe.”

“Fuck you,” you wheeze out, trying and failing to curl away from the pressure he is currently applying to your wound. “That—hurts—”

“I know,” he says, pained. “But I have to. We have to. I’m sorry.”

“He’s right,” Steph says, brushing some of your hair away from your face. “Come on, talk to me. Ignore what he’s doing. What were you going to say before?”

“My phone,” you mumble, shivering. “Flash gave it to me. S-Said if I press the power button three times, it sends a distress signal to him.”

“That’s kind of him,” Tim mutters, sounding, dare you say it, jealous, which, in your haze of pain, just pisses you off. 

“You absolute asshole, you don’t get to—”

“Stop it!” Steph snaps, lunging for your phone. “Tim, focus on saving her life and not on being an ass right now, okay? I’m calling him. We need that kind of speed. She’s losing too much blood and the hospital is too far.”

He sobers significantly. A bloodied hand reaches for yours. You’re only aware of it because you see it, the sight of his pale skin covered in your blood, his fingers wrapping around yours. He squeezes.

“Can you feel that?”

“K-Kind of.”

“Do it, Spoiler.”

“I’m doing it, Timothy.”

She is. She holds your phone in gloved hands, pressing the button three times, then scoots away from your head, lifting your feet over her lap. 

Tim continues his work, the pressure he continues to apply to the wound making your head spin. Exhaustion creeps in at the edges, making your eyelids drag with each blink. 

No, no, falling asleep is bad. You’ve seen enough movies and TV shows of injured characters to know that. You have to stay awake. 

Steph watches you, concerned. “How long—”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence as a sharp gust of wind hits all of you. It knocks things off the shelves and then, all of you are blinking up at the Flash, blue lightning fading away.

He breathes your name and in the next blink, he’s next to you, on his knees. 

“Hey, Flash,” you croak. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he says softly, a gloved hand resting tenderly on your forehead. He looks at Tim and Steph. “Hospital?”

“It’s—”

Tim cuts Steph off, staring hard at Flash. “She’ll most likely need a blood transfusion. Her blood type is AB positive—”

“And she’s allergic to penicillin,” Steph tacks on quickly. 

“Got it.” He sweeps you into his arms and you whimper at the movement. “And the hospital?”

“Intersection of Murphy Avenue and Elliot Circle,” Steph tells him.

“Be careful,” Tim stresses. 

Flash gives him a frosty look. “I got it. You’ve done enough.”

Stop fighting, you want to say, but Flash is delightfully warm and you’re so tired. If you rest your eyes for just a little bit, that’s fine, right? 

“Flash—!”

A sharp tug in your belly, gravity pulling on you, and darkness falls over you like a blanket. You surrender without fight.

Voices puncture the veil of darkness. Soft murmurs, soothing tones. 

“She’ll be okay, Red,” a woman murmurs. “You got her here on time.”

“I know, Lin,” someone else says and wait, you know that voice. It’s Flash. He sounds so… harrowed. “But I just… I don’t know.”

“You know what the doctors said. The danger is gone. And with you here… maybe…” she trails off, tone implying something you aren’t privy to.

A deep breath. “Do you think so? I could’ve, earlier, but I didn’t know if it would hurt her and I didn’t want to take the chance…”

“Well… I think you’re a big softy and she means a lot more to you than you ever realized. So… maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echoes back and you want to know, want to ask what exactly it is he and this mystery woman are talking about but you slip back under again.

The next time you resurface, it’s to cutting words and a tension so thick, you feel it, too, even with all your senses muddled, knee-deep in a haze.

“I don’t mind her,” Flash says coldly. “But you, too?”

“She’s my friend. I have a right to see her, too,” someone else says—Tim, you realize. It’s Tim, his tone cutting, temper on the rise. 

“The way you’ve treated her these past two months doesn’t say much about friendship to me.”

“I was going to tell her—”

“Oh, you were going to tell her? Only after you finally fucked it all up being caught hanging out with your friends when you explicitly said you were too busy to hang out with her? Yeah, that’s real great.”

“You haven’t told her,” Tim points out petulantly. 

“Really mature,” Flash scoffs. “I have a good reason to keep it from her. What’s yours? It’s not like you were deprived of her attention. You’re friends. Why the hell would you favor Red Robin over Tim Drake?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand—”

“No, I bet you don’t, because it’s easier to excuse yourself that way, isn’t it?” he seethes. “You’re just like him, you know. Just like him.”

You don’t know who they’re talking about. Or maybe you do and it’s just not coming to you. But the comparison isn’t a kind one. The way Tim snaps back in the next second affirms that. 

“She wasn’t talking to me! I was—worried!”

“So, you should’ve talked to her! Instead of going behind her back and befriending her as Red Robin! What the hell did you achieve by doing that?”

“We were going to tell her, too, you know,” the woman from before says, her tone disapproving. “Very soon, in fact. But his situation is different from yours and you know that.”

Silence stretches on.

“Well, I still want to see her,” Tim says quietly, the fight leaving his voice.

“How—” Steph. Her voice cuts out, thick in a way that is unfamiliar to you. She clears her throat. “How is she?”

“Stable,” the mystery woman informs her. 

“Why hasn’t she woken up?” Tim asks. You can just hear the frown in his voice and the vision of him forms easily in your mind, that familiar wrinkle between his brows, pretty pink lips pursed. 

“Anesthesia still needs to wear off,” the woman says. “She’ll wake up soon.”

“But until then,” Flash cuts in, tone still severe. “Feel free to make yourself scarce. Stephanie can hang around. But you? No way in hell.”

“You think she wants that?” Tim shoots back, anger returning. “You don’t know anything. You have no idea. You’re assuming—”

“Yeah, I am. She’s not awake. She can’t tell us. Until then, I—we—can make those decisions.”

“Oh, that’s great. I’m sure she’ll love that—”

“I know what you’re thinking and we’re doing this with good intentions. You can’t say the same, can you?”

That doesn’t help. Fans the flames, if anything, as they keep arguing. 

Ugh. You don’t want to hear this. 

Like mercy, you slip under again. 

reblogs are appreciated!

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[pleasantglitterflower]

Legends will never die (JOE BURROW x COBAIN! READER)

TW: mentions of death, suicide, drugs

I was at Joe's parents' house for lunch to celebrate the birthday of Dan, one of my boyfriend's older brothers. It's been great to be here, I love his family, they've always welcomed me very well, but this happy family moment awakens strong triggers in me and a desire to experience something I didn't have. Seeing Joe talking so animatedly with his father, his brothers and his grandfather, at a certain point my father-in-law hugs him from the side, my eyes instantly water. 

   I quickly excuse myself from the environment I was in, talking to my mother-in-law and my sisters-in-law, and go to the bathroom, where I quickly start crying. Why didn't I have a structured family? Why isn't my father here with me? Why do these shitty drugs and depression exist in this shitty world and affect good people?

  I didn't even see time pass when I heard loud knocks on the door. 

- Baby, open the door - Joe shouts from the other side

I come back to reality and open the door. As soon as Joe sees my swollen eyes, he runs over and hugs me.

- What happened my love? Since the journey you've been quieter and more thoughtful, I didn't say anything before because I knew you'd make up some excuse, but I know you're not well

- Joe, it's not for nothing, you know that I love your family and how you have a great connection, especially with your father, and when I saw you two hugging in the backyard, it was inevitable not to think about my father - I look down embarrassed 

- Hey, look at me - he lifts my chin - You don't need to fake your feelings my dear, I know how difficult it is for you to talk about him, especially since this year it will be 30 years since he died, but know that he is very proud of you wherever he is and that, although his life here on Earth was short, his legacy is eternal.

- It's been very difficult Joe, very difficult indeed. People are putting a lot of expectations on my performance at the tribute, I don't know if I'll want to participate.

- Baby, everything will be fine, you'll do well, I see how much you've dedicated yourself to making a perfect presentation, don't worry - Joe kisses me on the forehead and hugs me tightly

     - Joe, I don't know what I would do without you, I love you so much

- I love you the most Janis - then we kissed.

     In a week's time, the tribute show to my father will take place, in celebration of his 30 years of legacy in music. 30 years ago, Kurt Donald Cobain, my father, left this world grayer, with a legion of fans all over the world in mourning and despair, and an entire family torn apart. I was born on October 27, 1993, six months before his death, and the height of his period of self-destruction due to drugs and depression. Dad fought his demons for years, it wasn't just during that period, and the sudden fame only made these inner demons increasingly present in his life.

  Me and Frances, my older sister, were very exposed to all the scandals caused by our parents, even at our young age, when mom said in an interview that she used heroin when she was pregnant with Frances, she and dad ended up losing custody. However, they managed to recover after promising to undergo rehabilitation. Mom managed to kick her heroin addiction, but unfortunately dad couldn't. When Mom found out she was pregnant with me, Dad was apparently determined to change and be a responsible father to Frances and me, but inside, his demons were screaming more and more, and throughout 1993, Dad tried to commit suicide several times, in addition to intense heroin abuse, until on April 5, 1994, he reached his limit, he could no longer bear to live with that internal anguish that had affected him since he was a teenager.

Even with all the fame, recognition, money and the millions of fans he gained all over the world, Dad couldn't be happy, even though he married the woman he loved and became the father of two daughters that he loved so much, Dad couldn't. he could exorcise his pain within himself, he could no longer stand living in a world in which he could not fit in, a selfish world, full of falsehoods is very cruel. Every year that passes, when I always pick up the farewell letter he wrote, it chills my soul, his anguish was visible in his writing.

  “I had a lot, a lot, and I'm grateful for that, but since I was seven years old I started to hate all humans in general. Just because it seems so easy to relate and empathize. Just because I love and feel for everyone so much, I guess. Thank you from the bottom of my sick, burning stomach for your letters and your concern over the years. I really am an erratic and sad baby! I no longer have passion, so remember, it's better to burn out than to slowly fade away¹. Peace, Love, Empathy.

Kurt Cobain

Frances, Janis and Courtney, I will be at your altar. Please go ahead, Courtney, for Frances and Janis. For their lives, they will be much happier without me.

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU”

It was very difficult for me to accept that my father took his life on his own and that he preferred not to live any longer to be present for me and Frances, but as the years went by and listening to the stories from my mother, Dave, my godfather, , and other people who lived with Dad, I came to the conclusion that he had already given up on life a long time ago and tried to cut it short several times, but it was on that April 5, 1994 that his limit ended, and then he gave a shoots himself with a shotgun. If it hadn't been on that date, it would have been the next day, the following week, my father couldn't bear to live any longer.

   Dave has always been like a father figure to me, he was always by my side for everything I needed and was one of my main encouragers to pursue a career in music, because according to him, I had the same genius to express as my father. feelings in the form of songs. During my adolescence I composed several songs and recorded some demos, but only my family knew about it. I never thought about pursuing a singing career, I wrote according to my imagination and as a hobby, I always wanted to pass on my knowledge to other people, so I studied music in New York, and started teaching music to children in public schools, until I was transferred to a school in Cincinnatti, which is where I met Joe. My class went to do a musical performance at an event for his foundation, and he came to congratulate me on my work, I was super flattered and we became friends, and it didn't take long for us to admit our feelings and he asked me to be his girlfriend in a beautiful sunset  in California.

Joe was always very loving and affectionate with me, and always helped me in moments of vulnerability when I cried in his lap when talking about my father. I've always admired his relationship with his father, how football is a factor that keeps their connection very strong, and I wondered what it would be like for my dad and me talking about music, what he would think of today's music scene, if he Would you be proud of me? 

    When Dave said that my participation would be very important in the tribute to my father, Joe was also one of my main supporters, for him I needed to face my negative feelings and show the world my musical talent, which according to Joe is undeniable that my talent It's genetic. After thinking very calmly, I decided to accept the idea and began to rehearse exhaustively, as Dad deserved perfection.

April 5, 2024- Kurt Cobain Tribute, Seattle 

The big day arrived, if I said I slept calmly I'd be lying, I couldn't stop being nervous for a minute. As the stadium got closer, I felt my stomach drop, while Joe was next to me holding my hand. When we saw it, there were millions and millions of people with Nirvana shirts, with shirts with my father's face, with posters with loving words for him, there were children, teenagers, adults, elderly people, Seattle became small. It's incredible how even 30 years after his death, Kurt Cobain still had a loyal legion of fans, and over the years he gained new fans, many who weren't born at the time of Nirvana's heyday and who had Kurt as an inspiration.

  The tribute line-up was the envy of any other festival, as it had Pearl Jam, Metallica, Guns n Roses, Iron Maiden, Green Day, and the main attraction, Nirvana himself, but this time it would be Janis who would represent Kurt in the vocals. Janis rehearsed nonstop with Dave and Krist, it would be the first time at a festival that Nirvana would make an official performance again since Kurt's death, but this time with Janis paying tribute to her father. Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic always play the songs of the band that made them famous when they get together, but only at intimate shows, so the performance at the tribute would be the band's official return.

Nirvana would headline the event, and it was the most anticipated performance, as Kurt Cobain's daughter would be singing with the remaining members of the band and paying tribute to Kurt.

  The performance was about to start, and Janis was breathing very deeply in her dressing room, until she heard a knock on the door. 

   -Come on

The door opens, revealing the figures of Joe, Courtney and Frances.

  - My love how are you? - Joe questions

- Too nervous, what if I get out of tune? What if I lose my voice? I don't want to disappoint the fans, but especially I don't want to disappoint Dad, no- Courtney interrupts her youngest daughter

- Janis, you will be perfect my daughter, your father is already very proud of you, wherever he is, at this moment he is very happy with the woman you have become - the eldest speaks with her voice choked with emotion

- That's right sister, everyone knows your potential and how hard you work to keep our father's legacy alive to this day, you're going to get on that stage and show those bastards who's boss - Frances shouts excitedly, making the presents laugh 

- My mother-in-law and sister-in-law are absolutely right, you're going to rock my dear - Joe gives me a quick peck

One of the producers enters the dressing room and announces that it is time to go on stage. The tribute to Kurt Cobain is being broadcast online, YouTube went down at certain times due to the large number of hits, and at the time of Janis' performance with Nirvana, 1.5 billion and a half people were online and waiting of the show.

     The band was announced and first came Krist, Dave, and then Janis Cobain, sending the audience into a frenzy. She looked at all the people present in that stadium, quickly looked at the VIP box that had Joe, Courtney, Frances, her in-laws and her brothers-in-law with their wives. Joe was smiling brightly at her full of pride.

  - Good evening - the audience shouts - We are here to celebrate the 30 years of legacy of our dear Kurt Cobain, known as my dear father. Daddy, wherever you are, know that you continue to be very loved and that I'm very proud to be your daughter- I say looking at the sky excitedly- and today I'm going to do my best to give you a great show, LET'S GO MOTHERFUCKERS- I yelled 

The show was perfect, Dave and Krist gave me a lot of support and security, and I felt more and more free. I didn't stop feeling emotional during the most emotional songs, but the important thing is that I had managed to honor my father in the way he deserves. After the show, Joe came running over to hug me.

- I knew you would put on an amazing show love, I'm so happy for you

- Joe, if it weren't for you, maybe I wouldn't be here now, thank you so much for always being with me my love, I love you - I kiss him

And in the depths of the sky, Kurt Donald Cobain smiles, very happy for the happiness of his beloved daughter and very satisfied with the honor, he knew that his daughter was very talented, it was no wonder that she is a Cobain.

[whatevergreen]

Korean Atomic Bomb Victims Cenotaph, Hiroshima - 샷타임 2023

A memorial to the 10,000s of Koreans injured and killed by the American atom bombing of Hiroshima in 1945.

Estimates vary but there were around 70,000 Korean victims of the attack, at least 35,000 of whom died. Days later 10,000s more suffered a similar fate in Nagasaki.

Over 10,000 of those killed were slaves, forcibly taken from occupied Korea to work in Japanese industry.

These bombings were a war crime which indiscriminately killed Japanese civilians and 10,000s of the victims of Imperial Japan's own war crimes.

Another view, by 'Real Equator', May 2022

An old (1993) but still relevant article by WISE:

"Japan is the only officially recognized country to have been subject to bombings with nuclear weapons. However, the victims of those bombings were not just the Japanese. There were some Allied Forces who were prisoners of war in both cities at the time, along with many Chinese and Koreans from Japanese-occupied countries who were also victims. In fact, nearly 10 percent of the total victims were immigrant Koreans."

... "A citizens group for Korean victims estimates the number of Korean victims at Hiroshima to have been seventy thousand, of whom thirty-five thousand died. At Nagasaki there were thirty thousand victims with fifteen thousand dead. Although everybody faced equal risks at the time the bombs dropped, most Koreans found the aftermath much harder than the Japanese. For example, many of them had no place to evacuate to without any relatives to go to, thus they had to return to the contaminated and devastated cities. Even people who had evacuated were forced back to the cities to help with the cleaning up there. If medical teams found that a patient was Korean, he or she had to stand at the end of the lines of people seeking help.

On 15 August 1945, Korea finally became independent and Korean people in Japan were free. But they lost everything in Japan as well as their homeland. After they returned to Korea, they had to start their lives all over again from nothing. To add to the losses and the agonies of radiation disease, poverty and discrimination, the Korean War broke out soon afterwards. Some of those arriving in Korea had been born in Japan or lived so long a time there and spoke little Korean. Many of them had no opportunity or access to education and training for a good job so that they could only get jobs subjecting them to terrible physical conditions. One side-effect of the Korean War was that the diseases and after-effects caused by the radiation were hardly known in Korean until the 1960's. If a victim had money to go hospital, doctors put the name of disease as something else. One man whose fingers and toes swelled abnormally was thought to have leprosy and he had to leave his village with his family.

The answers to a questionnaire by the citizens group for Korean victims in 1979 shows that 80% of them are suffering from various illnesses, though just 19% of them can afford to go hospital. One third of have no jobs and 80% live in poverty."

This article also mentions that when the monument was originally built in 1970 it wasn't allowed to be situated in the Hiroshima Peace Park, but was erected in a street. Even in 1993 it hadn't yet been moved to it's current location in the park after years of protest.

A related recent news article:

"Yoon is the first South Korean president to meet with the survivors, a presidential spokesperson said.

As many as 100,000 Koreans suffered during the U.S. bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, half of them dying that year while about 43,000 returned to the South and 2,000 went to the North, the Korea Atomic Bombs Victim Association says.

Of the 2,261 victims registered with the association, fewer than 2,000 were still alive by late 2021."

[bookwormstarwarsfan]

A few days ago I saw some Ducktales here and decided to write about one of my favourite Hungarian historical moments, but then I realized that the anniversary is in less than a week, so I scheduled this post exactly on the 30th anniversary even for the minute, at 18:08 CET. (Edit: fuck Tumblr, it messed up scheduling, but second part is on its way)

So let me to present you the story of the Ducktales generation of Hungary, the children born in the 80s, who were traumatized by the aforementioned cartoon exactly 30 years ago, on December 12th 1993 at 18:08.

The year is 1993. The ill-fated little Central-European Hungary is barely out of the more than 40 years of terrible communist dictatorship, it only elected it's first in decades democratic government in 1990 and the last occupying Soviet soldier left the the country in the Summer of 1991.

The first media war is on full rage, meaning that there is still only two, government owned, tv channel, (and time to time HBO, if you were at the right place at the right time) but unlike during the socialism, Western programmes are allowed. This two facts together mean that every time there is a kid's programme on, practically every children who has access to tv, watches it.

Every Sunday afternoon is for Walt Disney, but most importantly for Ducktales. This one has a chokehold on every kid, the absolutle favourite. (Interestingly never became popular for any other generations in Hungary, unlike other iconic programmes, despite being aired a few more times in the following decades.)

So we get to the Sunday of December 12th. Allegedly 2.2 million children is in front of the tv, accompanied by many adults. The episode "A Whale of a Bad Time" is at its emotional high. Scrooge McDuck (or as we know him, Uncle Dagobert) is histerically jumping on the dinner table, because the ship with his money is lost. At 18:08 one of the most famous last sentence is said: 'A sea monster ate my ice cream!!!'

The screen goes black and white, the programme stops, blackness, then the grey channel logo shows up and Chopin's Funeral March starts playing. For long minutes nothing happenes, except of course for the hundreds of thousands of kids having a temper tantrum. By the time the March is coming to the end, even more adults are in the room, either because of the screaming kid or the sudden change of mood.

After 2 whole minutes again a moment of blackness, then a fat, old man in thight black suit comes up with a flag in the the background.

For many of the children watching, this was the first time to ever come to contact with politics, and for some of them, with death. Because the man, Péter Boross, who at that first moment still unbeknownst to the audience had already been the Prime Minister for less than an hour, had an important message:

'Fellow citizens, Hungarians, here at home and around the world. Destiny gave me a painful duty. Dr József Antall, Prime Minister of Hungary today after 5 pm passed away.'

Of course the passing of the reigning Prime Minister would be breaking news everywhere, especially if he is the first democratically elected one in more than 40 years, but this event became more important for a different cause.

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 824: Shellac At Action Park

I'm still wrapping my head around the news that Steve Albini is no longer with us.

I first heard Big Black on a mixtape my friend made me back in 1992. The song was "Jordan Minnesota." It was mean and ferocious and sounded like nothing else I'd heard before. I went out and bought the Hammer Party CD that compiled their earliest EPs soon after. It was a tough listen, but as was so often the case in those pre-internet / teenage years of the early '90s, if you plunked down your allowance money on a CD of "difficult" music, you didn't give up on it after a cursory listen. I stuck with it until those "difficult" songs eventually became anthems of teenage alienation.

There was another interesting angle to the Hammer Party CD: there were extensive liner notes that outlined the band's operating strategy. They were a DIY band uninterested in the music business. They were principled. They were nerdy, unassuming looking people. But the music they made was scarier than any metal band.

Big Black songs were almost always written from the villain's perspective. They were unvarnished narratives about unsavory characters. "Jordan Minnesota" was about a child molester. "Seth" is about a racist. "Columbian Necktie" is about a drug cartel hitman.

Terms like "incel" and "edgelord" didn't exist back then. But there was definitely a streak of impotent male rage and deliberate controversy in Big Black's music. In recent years, Steve Albini made a point of acknowledging those attributes in his music and apologizing for his role in elevating a culture of targeted mean-spiritedness. I think it was a noble gesture on his part, though I thought it was always fairly obvious that Big Black wasn't glorifying the behavior of the characters in their songs. It was about making art that acknowledged the awful side of humanity. Rather than sweeping the ugliness under the rug, Big Black dragged the creeps into the spotlight and shouted "look at these fucking assholes."

If Big Black defined high school, Shellac helped define my college years. The lyrical subject matter was less antagonistic, but the music seemed colder. It was sparse. Austere. Deliberately scaled back to the point of seeming mechanical. The bombast of Big Black was replaced by the tension of Shellac. At this point, you knew what Albini was capable of, but now he was the poker player who was keeping a straight face and playing his cards cautiously.

By the time At Action Park came out, Albini was a person of note outside of his bands. I remember reading his article in Maximum Rock N Roll on major labels and how the promise of riches really just meant other people in the music industry taking a slice of the artist's budget and eliminating any chance of future royalties. His engineering credentials were already legendary, and his recording philosophy played a major role in shaping my own attitude towards making records.

Russian Circles have recorded at Albini's studio half a dozen times at this point. And while we've never worked with Albini at the board, he was often lingering around the building, working on sessions in the other studio or puttering around working on things. He was exactly like you'd expect him to be. Smart. Opinionated. Quick with a sharp reply.

He was by no means infallible. His assessment of Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville back in 1993 was pretty gross. He's made a point of vocalizing his regret over naming a band Rapeman. But considering that he's been a firebrand for over 40 years, I'd say Albini did a fairly good job of ruffling feathers while sticking up for the downtrodden. He was a man of artistic ideals and principles who managed to stick to his guns while shaping the industry around him. He was an artist who was able to develop and evolve his sound over the course of several decades while also retaining the initial vision and spark in his work. He was impervious to fads yet somehow always relevant.

RIP Steve. You were one of a kind.

[benicioscenes]

BENICIO DEL TORO as DINO PALLADINO MONEY FOR NOTHING 1993 | dir. Ramón Menéndez

[schismusic]

Joy Division, or: how I learned to stop worrying and love New Order, too

Spring is weird as hell because one time you have this glaring sun that powers you up like being plugged into a wall outlet, then not five minutes later clouds begin to gather and you feel like you're going to die if anything goes south. So the most obvious combination to represent two sides of this same coin, emotional and meteorological, is Joy Division and New Order.

Sometimes you need Transmission or Shadowplay for the sunny days — impassioned jolts, sparks flying everywhere. Sometimes The Perfect Kiss hits harder on a cloudy afternoon, coming back home and in need of that extra push to not fall asleep in the train. It's surprising to realize the versatility displayed by both bands, or the same band in two different iterations according to whomever you ask. Peter Hook says, as late as 1993, that the laziest member of New Order is Ian Curtis. Or again this other person, in the comments under the Atmosphere official video on YouTube, who went to see New Order (Hooky-less New Order, which might be a relevant distinction) at the O2 Arena a couple of years ago and they gave an encore, says "Those of us who stayed got the privilege of watching Joy Division perform three of their songs". Interesting outlook on the matter. I personally saw Peter Hook and the Light play both Joy Division records and, I'm pretty sure, an encore comprised of just Love Will Tear Us Apart at the Arti Vive Festival in Soliera, back when it was still free to attend some of the events. I remember being pretty mad that Hooky had stopped to take pics with basically everyone and then left exactly as I was approaching. In retrospect I don't exactly blame the man, it was like midnight anyway. I remember nothing of the back trip home.

My first contact with Joy Division happened when I was thirteen and very much in my prog era. I was in Rome staying at an aunt of mine's place for my fourteenth birthday and she told me I could get a CD, since I had gotten some money saved up over time. Some Facebook page dedicated to Pink Floyd I'd liked (yeah, Facebook at age thirteen — I literally just wanted to play a fucking Flash game, back when Facebook allowed them, and I ended up getting to be terminally online. Crazy how things turn out) used to share a lot of memes and fanart relating to the Unknown Pleasures album cover, and me being a massive Pink Floyd head at the time I thought "I mean, if these guys are pushing this band so hard, that's gotta mean something". The album cover was pretty striking, admittedly: a far cry from the paisley ass paintings that I had grown to accept as the gold standard for the music I liked, but its simplicity struck a chord closer to The Dark Side of the Moon, or perhaps The Wall. Those were records I liked a lot, probably called them "the best records ever made" to more than one person, not like they aren't but that's a very bold statement to make when your listening experience consists exactly of

Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor when I was six;

Daft Punk's complete discography (minus Random Access Memories, which wasn't out yet) when I was twelve;

Pink Floyd's complete discography, courtesy of a CD collection coming out with some Italian newspaper, that same year;

a couple random classic rock records recommended to me by older friends and relatives usually well into their fifties or sixties at the time, random people on Internet forums — which, for clarification, I did not actively attend, preferring to just lurk from time to time — and the OndaRock "milestones" page.

So browsing through the surprisingly expansive CDs section of this electronics shop in Rome, and being mesmerized by a vinyl rack in the days when Music on Vinyl was the final frontier of pretending you could re-analogue the digital ("you mean to tell me these are like CDs, but bigger? Whoever designed these truly lived in the future"), I came across that very same album art that had stricken me so hard. I had listened to the first seconds of the album on YouTube, but that weird drum sound — so echoey, so distant, ultimately not particularly powerful, meaning it didn't really sound like Bonzo: it sounded more like my own band, which at the time didn't even exist yet — I didn't really know what to make of. This store I was in had one of those preview listening machines that would scan the barcode on the CDs and give you a small snippet of the song. I pull the CD up to the scanner, the scanner lights up green, I put on the headphones and the solo from this comes up:

Clearly they had to be kidding me. I had come to know, sneaking into infinitely many rehearsals with the band from my mother's town, what it sounded like when someone tried to play lead without something else filling up the arrangement (even though I didn't really know all that, or at least lacked the vocabulary to properly express it) and, for Christ's sake, didn't these guys notice rehearsing? It sounded empty, weirdly so, and it wasn't my thing, I thought. I put that CD away and picked up a band I knew I'd like — Genesis, specifically. So Nursery Cryme became the first CD I've ever paid with my own money, the very day I turned fourteen. Not a bad pickup. I remember being very impressed with the fast blurring lead guitar on The Musical Box and digging the sweet pastoral atmospheres of For Absent Friends and Harlequin. I still think of that record more often than one would probably assume looking at this blog, or my most played on Spotify. At the time, that was the best move I could take, really: why beat my head against a record that, as your average prog nerd ballbreaker, simply wasn't speaking to me?

Then all of a sudden in August of the same year my friend's dad hands me a 16 gigabyte USB drive, full of random music from all eras of rock. A lot of it remains inscrutable to me for a really long time, most notably Tom Waits (see related post), but I spent the whole month reading random folder names, seeing if something catches my eyes, and at one point I come across the Mars Volta. Open the folder up, read the names of their first three records, and my first thought is "Christ, these guys look incomprehensible. I'm about to have some fun". Long story short: I end up having a lot of fun, the Mars Volta turns into my favourite band at the time and finding out that they had previously been called At the Drive-In makes me gain some measure of respect for punk rockers: if they tried hard enough, I must've thought, they could prog as hard as anyone. In the meantime the ghost of Joy Division remains at the back of my head. I feel like I'm missing something, for the first time in my life: it's not them, it's me. Too bad that same realization didn't occur to me when it came to the people in my life until much, much later, but that's being fourteen for you I suppose. Early King Crimson and the Mars Volta were the pinnacle of violence to me, and not even the very few Metallica songs I'd downloaded just to see what would happen scratched that itch. It felt a bit too cauterized for some reason (I would later find out I had been looking in the wrong direction the whole time: the Black Album "sucked", according to my favourite metalhead of the time, who somehow catalyzed my interest from the very second I saw him in the school's courtyard. Hard to imagine why I would imprint on people like puppies do, but what the fuck, not like I've ever outgrown that anyway, I've just gotten better at managing it). But I felt there was more than violence to this, or different forms of violence. When Christmas came around and my relatives tried to get me presents, my mother asked if there was anything specific I was interested in, and I basically told her "look, if they can get me some CDs off of this list, I'm golden". It had some bangers on it, namely Noctourniquet by the Mars Volta — it's one of their best and I will die on this hill, be warned — and The Downward Spiral, which might as well warrant its own post in an ideal world. But the best of them all I think came from a random purchase, once again with the little money I had lying around at the time.

Closer appears to be, right away, a bit more concrete, and if there's something inexperienced music fans like is a pretty packaging that conjures a strong emotional response before they've even played the record. Compare a color-inverted graph of pulsar emissions to a literal funerary monument. Opening up the booklet I was shocked to see that Genesis was used as a negative point of comparison (bad omen, I thought) by people close to the band, and I came across much more detailed information about Ian Curtis's untimely demise — at that time, something far too removed from my experience to be faced with the delicacy and attention it deserves. Atrocity Exhibition hits like a ten-ton truck, a reference which at the time I wouldn't have been able to make for obvious reasons, and Isolation exposes all the nerve tissue under the skin. Passover comes in and strips everything even barer, and then A Means to an End turns… danceable, for some reason? Big emotional moment with The Eternal and Decades, which I thought actually took them closer to my usual tastes. And yet at the same time I kept looking at Colony, Heart and Soul and Twenty Four Hours as the most compelling cuts. Geometric assault sounding like sheet metal if it were music; rhythmically driven emptiness that serves as a minimal backdrop for depressed poetry, and finally a rocking ebb-and-flow that would probably inform a lot of my interest in GY!BE-like post-rock in the coming years. Very interesting to think that the same guys who'd done Unknown Pleasures could think of this. To this day, when asked, I still do think that Closer is the best Joy Division record, but what does it even mean when the records are exactly two, compilations notwithstanding?

It was around this time that it came to my attention that both Joy Division and another band called New Order had a record called Substance out, both published by the same recording company, both coming out within a year of each other. Looking it up, it turns out it's fully intentional, because New Order is simply Joy Division minus Ian Curtis. It would turn out to be a tad bit more complex than that. Anyway, I look New Order up and kind of have to do a double-take. Synthpop? In my Joy Division? More likely than you'd think, considering Isolation exists. But yeah, that sort of seals it — I wouldn't care about this New Order for a million years. Until all of a sudden a couple of years later David Sylvian bursts like a comet in my face, which of course leads me straight to Japan, the same year as I'd come across Berlin-era Bowie, and you can probably guess where this is going, right?

Well, you'd be wrong. I still don't check out New Order. There's a whole new world open to me — vaporwave and therefore R Plus Seven come to my attention, which leads me to dissect that record like an alien tool of unclear purposes. This of course leads me onto an ambient tangent, taking me back to my Tim Hecker listens of that same year, which has the effect of renewing my interest in "pure" electronic music and the then-rising post-dubstep movement. The sheer experience of sound, the dazzling modernity and innovation, is what's in at the time. I have no time for nostalgia-pandering dimwits: the future awaits. Then all that jazz from the first Godflesh post hits, then God pulls the funniest gag in the history of viral infections to my memory, and I have some time to actually look back, a bit less prejudiced. As it turns out, synthpop is not the devil, as some of you might have surmised by now, and as I relisten to Blue Monday I realized I have never listened to either of the Substance record. I do know some, most perhaps?, of the tracks on the Joy Division one, and I do think the New Order one has the more striking cover art — not to mention I knew, by this time, that this was the one to give Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance its name, and that Your Silent Face soundtracked one of the most memorable moments in Nicolas Winding Refn's Bronson. As the ultimate Hideo Kojima stan, I couldn't let this slide, so I pop the record on and get hit with this:

Way to go, guys. Holy shit. I knew that Ceremony was a Joy Division cut before they could record it, but what the hell — Bernard got it, too. It wasn't a matter of singing ability with songs like these, it's just getting it, finding the right energy. They had that right energy. And then it hit me just as many times these dudes have made Blue Monday over and over again before actually getting it right, and everytime I look into it it's funnier and funnier to realize just how many different attempts it took them to finally be Kraftwerk, but augmented — with the stellar results we all know. Everything's Gone Green, 5 8 6, Temptation potentially, all lead up to this one moment in the history of dance music where somehow three dudes and a girl hailing from Manchester managed to out-gay the Pet Shop Boys (by their own admission, apparently), to shake the whole world's collective booty, to do whatever it is they were supposed to do in this last comparison that would ideally make the previous one a bit less obnoxious but whatever, it's 3am as usual, you know how it goes by now don't you? But then after Blue Monday the record keeps going, and thank god it does, because it's banger after banger. How do these guys keep doing it?

So I spend some time with that record, then it fades down, then it comes back up last month, when the weather calls for it and its parent company. Which is when I find myself watching the Control movie for the first time, surprisingly enough seeing as I already enjoyed the work of Anton Corbijn as a photographer. Looking at all that, it is revealed to me that Joy Division never really having died is not a bug, it's a feature. Everyone is gasping, I get it, but please pick your jaws up and check this out: the band has never learned how to play their respective instruments. One might go so far as to argue they play their own stuff their own way, and that's basically it. Nothing could be further from the truth. These guys jammed, a lot; that's how Joy Division wrote songs, that's how New Order wrote songs, even going as far as having Bernard Sumner fucked up on acid so he could find the chorus to Temptation or the whole band bombed out of their minds on X in Ibiza clubs to write, basically, the entirety of Technique — and even then, not really, there's a couple jangly tracks that the X would most likely render unlistenable but what do I really know? Point being: it might now have been sparked by a music teacher or instructor, it might not have been the product of a process comparable to that within Television, which led them to organically seek out better, more "by the book" musicianship, but New Order were incredibly familiar with their instruments, had formed an element of comfort and understanding that counterbalanced the alien-ness to music terminology.

Peter Hook recently uploaded a Yamaha-sponsored video to his Instagram, which I am pretty sure has a say in running, where he jams on a Yamaha bass and, you know, it sounds like Hooky alright, but it's never a discernible bassline until he kicks into the A major strumming that opens Love Will Tear Us Apart. Before that, he just strolls around the neck, leisurely strumming away at power chords imbued with that thick chorus and reverb combo he became renowned for. I would never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined I'd find myself thinking "okay, awesome, stop talking — I want to hear you jam a bit more" referring to one of the musicians who were part of possibly two of the craziest storiest in the history of contemporary rock'n'roll, also notorious for playing the rockstar whilst carrying the minimum possible baggage of technical knowledge he could. Once again, this is nowhere near a knock to the man — quite the opposite. Ian Curtis asked "persistence, well, what does it matter?", and Hooky (and, of course, the other members of New Order) found a way to constructively answer that question. Moments before Coil, but a bit later than Israel Regardie, they said "persistence is all" and built a brand on finding a way to consistently sound like splendid, eternal, golden children: "like crystal", impassionate, tightly-knit performers with the purity of a child's heart. Ian Curtis had, in certain ways (at least artistically), the purity of a child in his heart, which some might even argue was a distinguishing feature of most of his literary idols — if you think about it, William Burroughs could be your dirty-minded classmate who walked in on his parents sharing an intimate moment in the bedroom (had his parents been gay men, the metaphor would probably fly better, but that most definitely wasn't the case). So the heart of Joy Division remains untouched, if a bit more naked. Heroes of post-punk, sons of the silent age, you can sleep soundly tonight.

[void-sand-cat]

Screw continuing the timeline into the future or expanding on the start of the franchise, I want Steel Wool to elaborate on what happened between FNaF 1 & 3.

We have a 23 – 30 year gap where we have NO IDEA what happens. Fazbear still exists and is doing alright; Pizza Sim & everything after doesn't function without that being true, as Henry dissolves the company, but it was still profitable for someone to bring it back.

Serously, what was happening with Freddy's between 1993/1992 and 2015/2017/2023? (We don't even know how long the time period is. We have been given nothing)

SL might be in that time period, but it's not like we have any confirmation on that. And SL is the only thing we even have the possibility of existing.

I don't want anything big, just a line somewhere mentioning what the company is doing. Even something like "Fazbear started franchising in 20XX, and a few new locations opened up — most closed in a few years. Rarely you hear rumors of nightguards disappearing, but no one believes any of them"

Boom! Now we got SOMETHING. Nightguards kept dying, and Fazbear kept making enough money to exist, but not a whole lot. We even have a reason why Fazbear Fright opened — Fazbear Entertainment was trying to dispel rumors about the nightguard position being dangerous/exploit those rumors for money (and a reason for the FNaF 3 nightguard to be part of the attraction)

Optimally, we would get more than that — I know a lot of us would LOVE to know what Henry was up to in those 23 – 30 years, or even a mention of Mike's existence beyond 1 monolog — but anything is better than the complete silence we have now.

Please, Steelwool, although the beginning and the future of Freddy's are fascinating, there's a massive gap in the middle of the timeline that we know NOTHING about.

[madhattersez]

I finally got my hands on something I've been looking for (for a reasonable price) since I was just a lowly little level 12 hornball - A "Marvel Swimsuit Special!"

This is the second issue in the series (though the third book of its kind), and it was released in 1993 when... times were different.

The coolest thing about them (other than the totally radical '90s hunkeroos and baberinos in general) is the amount of really talented artists that submitted pieces - So many industry-leading folks putting their spin on the self-aware, low-brow, tongue-in-cheek project.

This first image was by Joe Jusko, a super popular cover artist at the time. I remember his Conan covers the most.

I'll eventually scan the whole thing in high quality, but for now, I'll take some preview pics to show you some of my favorite and/or goofiest pages:

Here is Domino, looking like we might need to race her to a Dermatology appointment. She's apparently tacky enough to wear a swimsuit with a domino print on it.

And check out Cable in the back - Sun's out, cyberbun out! He's ready to catch some waves on a totally-worth-the-money-and-production-time rocket-powered machine gun surfboard.

I really appreciate this artist's commitment to all the "Liefeld pouches" here. I hope they're waterproof, or all those Tic Tacs inside 'em are gonna get ruined. :(

Penciling by Chris Batista, ink by Hector Collazo, coloring by Mark McNaab.

Let's kick off the "after the jump" part properly with this glorious image of Pip. Because this is certainly what people bought this book for.

It just so happens that this fuzzy little asshole narrates the entire issue, so he's to blame for the inherently sexist captions on all the pictures.

Jesus Christ, he's got two big toes on each foot.

Pencilking by Darick Robertson, ink by Andrew Pepoy, coloring by Tom Smith.

I love me some Cloak and Dagger.

Tandy looks as gorgeous as ever. Surely she owns stock in boobie tape by now.

Tyrone, however, is getting so much sand stuck to him right now... I don't think he digs being used as a beach blanket. I'm... not even sure he's ever had to wash his cloak before today! Yikes. He's all like:

Penciling by Joe Madureira, ink by Terry Austin, and coloring by Gregory Wright.

I can't stop laughing at how much Thunderstrike looks exactly like the Genetic Freak, Big Poppa Pump Scott Steiner in this picture:

The work is entirely by Lou Harrison. It may not surprise you to learn he's also a Fantasy artist.

I've always had a thing for Silver Sable, and this page is just fantastic.

That being said, my favorite part is Sandman sitting there, looking like a dope, shaped like a sand castle. Which, while it seems silly, was probably the most challenging and detailed thing I've ever seen him do with his powers. Worth it for the shot, I suppose!

Line work and ink by Steven Butler, a favorite of mine. He did penciling for the "Silver Sable and the Wild Pack" series (which got me attached), but he's also known for designing the Scarlet Spider suit. Coloring by Gregory Wright.

If you thought I wasn't going to Morb out on this post, you were undead wrong.

Just look at that ridiculous batpackage. Also... Is he really serving a cape over a leather jacket, but with absolutely no pants? Damn, dude.

Penciling by Gary Barker, ink by Jimmy Palmiotti, coloring by Tom Smith.

I can spot Adam Hughes' work a mile away, wow. I guess I didn't realize he was doing work for Marvel this far back.

A fierce-as-ever, short-haired Natasha who looks like she got slammed so hard against a rocky wall that it cracked, got up, emptied out the rest of her clip, and still had enough time and energy to pose during a reload.

Black Widow, bay-bayyy. ♫

Oh my god, Ghost Rider is just so naughty. Wearing nothing but his birthday bones.

This scene just looks like it smells awful.

Artwork by Tristan Shane.

Shulkie in a metal bikini (function over fashion?), bursting out of the lava from an active volcano. You wanna talk "hot tub?" Sure, this gets a feature.

Penciling and ink by cover artist Steve Geiger, coloring by Paul... Mounts.

Deezamn, Bishop. Never seen guy looking so buff before.

Instead of just Bishop, this looks like Hank McCoy and Bishop had a child together. Does he have any other mode than "arm vein p-pop?"

Penciling by Dwayne Turner, ink by Mark Farmer, coloring by Gregory Wright.

Ah, one of the more famous '90s Psylocke images that wasn't done by Jim Lee.

This centerfold was used in lots of comic store ads for several years after this issue came out. I remember seeing posters in the shops themselves. Trading cards of this picture are one of the most costly to collect.

It's beautiful, and the colors/lighting/shading are all fantastic.

Penciling and ink by the wonderful Art Thibert, creator of the Raft max security prison and inker of some of the most iconic X-title covers.

Coloring by Paul Mounts, who did the coloring in hundreds and hundreds of just Marvel comics alone - I didn't mention that earlier because I was snickering at his name earlier in the She-Hulk feature. My bad.

Well, this wouldn't be Tumblr without a cat picture, yeah? Or a catgirl picture, I suppose.

This is the most adorable scene in the book. Just Tigra innocently taking a cuddle nap with some... um... wow, I don't know what the fuck those things are. Snuggle up anyway!

Penciling and ink by Amanda Conner, coloring by Gregory Wright.

Huh. Of all the characters in this book, I really didn't expect to see Dr. Cooper... Either which way, the swimsuit under the detective get-up is pretty choice, honestly.

This is, of course, another Adam Hughes line art joint. Ink by Mark Farmer, coloring by Gregory Wright (who did a lot of these, huh?).

What's this? A parody ad that you'd more expect to see in an issue of "What The--?!" that only '80s kids will understand? Yup, totally.

This was in the back of the book and doesn't fit the theme at all, but it gets a mention because of the weird inclusion and also to stall time until I had the final image ready, because I needed time to prepare...

THIS.

This is the one.

How could I not end this little "show and tell" without this beauty right here?

Here, we have remorseless killer Frank Castle flexing his best end-of-catwalk pose in front of a... wrestling match between a bunch of lady demon dinosaurs battling... for his affection? To tip him American cash? Or maybe all those hearts come from their love of beating each other up? I'm not here to judge.

And then there's a sign for 75 cent hotdogs, but it's been covered with another sign for... $20 tooth brushes? What in the shit is going on here?

There is one thing I do know, though. The artist wants you to think that The Punisher has at least $2.75 worth of hotdog under that massive crotch skull.

[dynamoe]

Billy Quizboy as the rabbit-toothed guitarist DAVE HILL of glam rock band SLADE— sporter of the worst bangs in rock n' roll history*— circa their 1973 Christmas #2 Merry Christmas Everybody**, which was covered as the annual Venture Bros holiday song this year by Pete White, Master Billy Quizboy, his mom and her lovers (the elderly superhero polycule).

→ hear the cover on KenPlume's youtube → go to the Billy Quizboy & Pete White index

(I know with the orange hair/eyepatch he looks like Ziggy Stardust— the Quizboy:Slade ratio is a delicate balance.)

Merriest Twelfth Day of Christmas to you, to Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer and to Slade and anyone else still reading who gives a shit.

Slade is more of a British thing, really. They had a ton of British hits in the 1970s as a glam rock band, but didn't break into the US until the 1980s (when they replaced Ozzy Osborne at the Reading Festival) with Cum on Feel the Noize, pivoting to be more hard rock/metal.

Noddy Holder was more of the “face” of Slade (head to toe plaid, mutton chops, tophat covered in mirrors). I suspect the all-plaid outfit on Col. Gentleman in the Vbros cover art is a take on Noddy's look... or he ignored the brief and dressed as one of Scotland's own Bay City Rollers. Slade suffered from a lesser case of Cheap Trick syndrome, where every member dressed like they were in a different band. Dave dressed full spaceman-- face glitter, every variety of metallic fabric available (lurex, glitter knit, vinyl, lamé) in shades of silver. The other guitarist whose name I won't look up wore a red lurex suit (I guess that would be Pete's outfit in their cover band) which he had to keep replacing because he sweated so much on stage the fibers literally melted (one of the suits was preserved by the V&A on an episode of Secrets of the Museum)... No one cares about the drummer. 

The only reason I know anything about Slade — I'm no rock trivia geek, I’m a comedy nerd — Slade was a constant punchline in 1990s Brit Comedy. Noddy appeared on Never Mind the Buzzcocks in the LaMar era. 1993 sketch show The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer had a recurring mini-sitcom “Slade in Residence” (the band living in a suburban home together, wearing their stage costumes, eating nothing but cup-of-soup, obsessing over monster truck rallies and­— the key to their appeal to Vic and Bob, I imagine­— whining in thick Black Country accents.)

Billy is my Covid muse and if he stars in the annual Christmas cover (he had only sung before on 2006's VentureAid; read poems on their take on the Beatles Fan Club records), it's not like I CAN'T draw something despite saying I was done with this shit. I promised you guys a *technically* Christmas Billy drawing and I *technically* delivered.

Now I'm gonna switch to drawing characters I own so I can finally make some money. Godblessuseveryone. ___

*Dave Hill was just being a futuristic spaceman, those micro-bangs were the hottness on all the skater girls of the late 1990s. I even had 'em.

**Having the #1 song at Christmas is a big deal in the UK (as you may remember from the Bill Nighy segments from Love Actually) and the 1973 slug match between Slade's Merry Christmas Everybody and the eventual winner Wizzard’s I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday looms large in music trivia, to the degree that I was sure Astrobot Go was going to release a cover a day later of some other (more fan-favored) characters doing their version of Wizzard to rain on Billy et. al’s parade.

→ Wizzard

So which character dons the beard and harlequin eye facepaint to be the guy from Wizzard? Probably Hank, right?

→ go to the Billy Quizboy & Pete White index → Nobody'sSweetheart on Instagram

[glennk56]

Charles Carroll

Here we have character actor Charles Carroll, I assume unknown to most Tumblr members. He has appeared in films and TV since 1987 in the movie Robocop and as of now has 49 credits. Charles started as a chubby man, got very big and in 2009 started losing weight and has kept it off.

The above photos are from a small role in Robocop, 1987.

The next 2 photos are from TV Movie, Murder of Innocence in 1993 with Valerie Bertinelli.

The next 3 photos are from an episode of Melrose Place in 1994.

The next 3 photos are from the Johnny Depp, Christopher Walken movie, Nick of Time in 1995.

The above 4 photos are from The Last Days of Frankie the Fly with Dennis Hopper in 1996.

Notice he continues to get fatter with every film. (Which I think looks so good on him in this film.)

The above 2 photos are from TV show Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction in 1997.

These 2 photos are from a small part in the 2002 movie The Salton Sea. (probably a larger role that was whittled away in editting.)

The above 4 photos are from Two for the Money with Matthew McConaughey and Al Pacino in 2005.

The above 2 photos are from the film Eagle Eye in 2008.

These 4 photos are from an episode of Monk in 2008. I don't like posting photos like the last but it best shows how big Charles Carroll got before he started losing weight in 2009. Besides you know Monk, shoots first and asks questions later. ;)

The first photo is Charles Carroll as Santa Claus in an episode of NCIS in 2008 and the next is from Nip/Tuck in 2009 and there is a noticeable difference in weight. Most people were probably telling him how great he looked. I never say that because I never believe it to be true. But I will congratulate on the weight loss anyway because it is good for the health. Anyway, Charles continued to lose weight and now looks nothing like he did back when he started.

[pastamansta]

🔥 Tim Burton (him as a person or his aesthetic, your choice!)

"Beetlejuice" (1988) reminds me a lot of another film I watched recently; "Tombstone" (1993). Sold by an aesthetic and a FANTASTIC performance from a side character, audiences were conned into loving a mediocre film. I'm not Lindsey Ellis, so don't expect me to talk about the cartoon.

"Batman" (1989) and its sequel is proof that Burton will not be giving up his aesthetic for God or money. Gotham is heavily disconnected from both the film and its source material, with little reason other than its director. There's a reason no one calls these "Keaton's Batmans," they call them "Burton's Batmans." Jack Nicholson is great as The Joker, but that's no hot take. The hot take is that Devito is too horny as The Penguin, and it makes me uncomfortable for a film that's already so sexual.

"Edward Scissorhands" (1990) is a bitter, bitter film where artist finally meets muse. Not, like, in the plot, but in the production. Depp and Burton were made for eachother... or at least that's what I'm supposed to think. This movie's just too messy, however, and can't decide where its focal point lies and leaves me wishing I had just watched "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" (2000) instead.

"Sleepy Hollow" (1999) leaves me, a fan of the original text, I know that's probably a weird thing to say, miffed, even if understanding. Outside of some pacing issues, it's a bold reimagining that feels like Burton attempting to get out of his comfort zone... but I just didn't need this story to be turned into an homage to B-horror. Go watch that Disney short, eh?

"Big Fish" (2003) is his best film. I am hardly qualified to speak on it, and even if I did, I would cry. So, you know, just go watch that shit.

"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (2005) is destined to be compared to "Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory" (1971), and why wouldn't it? In thirty-four years since the making of the original, not a single person worth listening to said "i need this done right," including Burton himself, which is why he tries to add so much, but no amount of additions changes the fact that he casted his muse instead of someone who could, you know, act like Wonka? So, you know, destined for failure and to be loved by everyone who won't watch movies made before 1987.

"Corpse Bride" (2005) is one of only two claymation films that Burton would actually direct, and he uses this time to steal a Jewish story and make it less Jewish. I don't like the ending or the songs and it feels like it could be cut in half and achieve the same effect.

"Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" (2007) literally doesn't have the iconic opening number from the stage play??? Overall, there's rarely a pairing of source material and director that works as well as this one... If only I enjoyed the source material, eh? So dark, so bitter, so edgy, so... nothing. I never think about this movie. When I do, I think of Mrs. Lovett's dream sequence and remember the good old days of "Big Fish" (2003) when Burton liked to use color.

"Alice in Wonderland" (2010) is one of my guiltiest pleasures in all of film. It is the reason why every time Disney announces a live-action remake, my ears perk up. If all of them were as wild, unhinged, original, creative, and inspired as this one... Well, I think Disney might not be fucking bleeding money right now. No one ever even mentions that it's a sequel to the original animated film. A SEQUEL, not a remake. Sometime movie-goers surprise me with how little they think.

"Frankenweenie" (2012) blows. I don't care how unique it is, I do not like it.

"Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children" (2016) is one of the funniest remnants of the teen dystopia genre. Like, it hardly applies, but is trying SO HARD that it's unbelievable. Also, props to Mr. "Black People Aren't My Aesthetic" for casting Samuel L. Jackson as a dude who eats white babies. (I do not mean that.) Seriously, this is proof that Burton, as a modern director, should no longer be taken seriously.

"Dumbo" (2019) is AAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAAAAHAHAHAHA I FUCKING HATE THIS DUDE HOLY SHIT

If I didn't mention, I haven't seen it. Yes, I know I skipped some big ones. I may watch them one day, but I am in no rush.